


You better check yourself

by Sadisticsparkle (sadisticsparkle)



Series: Freak outs and blue balls [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Blue Balls, Canon Compliant, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, POV Tony Stark, Sharing a Bed, Stony Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadisticsparkle/pseuds/Sadisticsparkle
Summary: There was awkward and then there wasthis. Tony knew how much he paid Clint. He could afford like five guest rooms with it and possibly an entire guest house, especially considering the furniture came from rummage sales and hand-me-downs.





	You better check yourself

**Author's Note:**

> I guess every Stony writer must have a take on bed sharing at Clint's farm and this one is mine.
> 
> Written for the second round of 2018 Stony Bingo. The square is 'canon compliant'.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to neverthelessthesun for the beta :D

There was awkward and then there was _this_. Tony knew how much he paid Clint. He could afford like five guest rooms with it and possibly an entire guest house, especially considering the furniture came from rummage sales and hand-me-downs.

Cap - was it okay to call him Cap when he was shirtless and changing into some old T-shirt of Clint's? - probably felt right at home with the old furniture and the cozy quilt on top of the bed. He rolled his eyes and then squared his shoulders, ready to counter Steve's glare.

Right. There was no glare coming - Steve had his back turned to him and so he couldn't see Tony's face.

That was an advantage. His face was too honest right now. Every last one of his hard-won techniques and rehearsed gestures was gone, and all the emotional scaffolding that kept his devil-may-care attitude in place was flimsy. He didn't have the energy required to keep them up, not when he had to keep track of so many other things.

He didn't blame himself for it - it was late, he was tired and a megalomaniac AI was off somewhere making evil AI plans. They weren't even original plans and he was slightly disappointed, if he had to be honest. An AI of his should at least have goals more original than replacing all organic life on Earth.

At least Ultron should've proposed some sort of eldritch amalgamation of organic and synthetic life - Tony would sign up if he got some cool powers out of the deal. And if it wasn't a mandated upgrade instead of a creepy forced butchery.

He snorted when he realized Steve would hate that too, in the same way he hated everything that wasn't traditional and square and organized and predictable.

Steve looked over his shoulder - why was he always Steve in his head and not something professional and distant like 'Rogers'? -, a questioning look in his eyes and the hint of a pout on his lips.

Right. That was why he was 'Steve' in his mind. Because his subconscious liked to do things like track the way he pouted for reasons Tony refused to examine. Nothing good would come out of that. He had enough self-control and enough self-awareness to know that you don't add fuel to a fire unless you're some sort of pyromaniac who gets off on destroying everything you love with something perilously close to sexual pleasure.

Damn it. It wasn't his fault if his mind wandered to the Freudian depths of how much he had always wanted to fuck the worry out of Steve's brow. It was the fault of Clint's too tight shirt and the approaching doom of having to share a bed with him.

Steve turned around and leaned against the wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed. 'Anything the matter?'

'No. Just thinking. You know, about life and the future and psychoanalysis,' he said.  
His feet kept tapping the wooden floor and his hands kept ironing the wrinkles in the quilt. He was the perfect picture of neurotic calmness. He didn't get why Steve was so suspicious.

Steve walked towards the bed. The way he swayed his hips was a shade away from indecent. 'Anything relevant? Or are you going to keep that a secret as well?'

Oh, so they were still doing that. That was better than pouty lips and swaying hips.

'I was just thinking it was too sad I won't get to jerk off tonight. I think it's the kind of day where I need the distraction.'

Steve sat next to him but left a prudent distance between them. That's how they had always worked - the only way they did. If they got any closer, sparks would fly and then everything would catch fire.

'You can use the shower,' Steve said, with his eyes fixed ahead of him.

There was silence, then, because Tony didn't really know how to reply to that - besides thinking it was gross, people would share that shower and he wasn't going to clean it and why did Captain America talk about jerking off, was this that famous 'dark side' - and Steve fell silent.

He had learned to fear Steve's silence.

'It's what I did.'

Okay. What. That wasn't information Tony needed - even if it was information he desperately, wantonly wanted and he couldn't help picturing it, picturing Steve's cock between his fingers and the fast, frantic way he probably touched himself, the look on his face when he came, the strangled sounds his throat would make.

And now he really needed to get off. It was no longer a joke.

He waved a hand. 'Too much information, buddy.'

Steve winced. 'Yeah. You're right. Sorry, I just…'

'You just what?' He turned around on the bed.'Because I'm trying to figure it out and I can't. Why do you want to discuss masturbation habits with me?''

Steve didn't look at him.

'I don't know, Tony. I just never know what to say to you.'

'So you thought talking about your cock would help? Trust me, it doesn't. It will just give me issues about my dick size.'

'You're… crass. Maybe if I…'

He crossed his arms. So he was being insulted now, on top of being blue-balled. Steve found a new way to annoy him every day.

'Maybe what?'

Then Steve lifted his eyes and it was one of those moments, those fleeting, rare moments where Steve would look at him straight in the eyes and there'd be something just out of grasp. Something like honesty or a bond or whatever that always slipped out of Tony's hands.

'Maybe you'd… maybe you'd get it.'

And then the moment passed, like they always did, leaving behind them just the blurry phantom of a feeling Tony never dared to define.

He uncrossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. 'Get what, Steve?'

'I don't know. Me?'

Steve's eyes were wide and young and hopeful. Tony swallowed. Steve hoped for something and no matter what it was, Tony knew he would fail. Hope led to expectations, and expectations led to disappointments. That was the problem with hope and why Tony avoided it.

He smiled, a little sadly. 'Let's just say this - I… want to get you too. But I don't think your sexual life is the way to start. Nor is mine. Don't wanna scar your innocent mind.'

He put his hand on Steve's shoulder and that seemed to relax the hard line of Steve's shoulders, even if something in Steve's eyes dimmed.

'Yeah. Good point. Especially not when…'

Steve gestured to the bed. A million thoughts rushed to the forefront of Tony's mind, but he just shrugged, before letting his hand fall from Steve's shoulder. He smiled - the mask slipping back on, the smiles getting more charming and less jagged.

'Whatever, Rogers, I've slept with worse people.'

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed. 'Well, I sure hope your breath wasn't this terrible when you did.'

Great. They had walked away from the edge of whatever that conversation was and were now in the more familiar territory of good-natured jabs. Tony stood up, grabbed some old sweatpants Clint swore had been washed and dove into the bathroom without looking back.  
He took one of the new, just opened toothbrushes and then it hit him again.

He was going to share a tiny bed with a very big man - _was Steve big all over_ , a voice said in his brain. And it wasn't a question, because he designed Steve's suits. He knew his measurements. They kept him awake sometimes, like a very persistent salesman.

_Can I interest you in Captain America's dick?_

He let his forehead rest against the tiled wall. It was cold, unlike his crotch and unlike Steve. Steve, who had told him to jerk off. Steve, who was now waiting for him in bed in a very twisted parody of his wet dreams.

Whatever, it had been a terrible day and he deserved it. He unzipped his jeans and took out his cock. It felt like defeat, until he wrapped his fingers around it.

He gritted his teeth and vanished any image of Steve. Tried to focus on how much of an asshole he was, but that was useless. The last time Steve had been an asshole he had also been wearing a tight T-shirt and acting like the world's grumpiest lumberjack. Maybe Steve could consider growing a beard.

There wasn't lube or anything like it anywhere in the bathroom - Tony had known terrorists who were better hosts than Clint, for fuck's sake. So it was quick and fumbly and a little uncomfortable, but he managed.

He came with a whimper that Steve's enhanced senses hopefully hadn't caught. He washed his hands and his teeth and his dignity - okay, no, his dignity was beyond saving - before changing into the sweatpants.

When he opened the door, Steve was standing there, with an apologetic expression.

Tony knew, in the depths of his despair, that he had heard. 'Bathroom is all yours.'

'Yeah. I… I have to brush my teeth.'

Tony let him go past him. It was awkward. He avoided Steve's eyes and he kept his body against the wall, trying not to touch Steve at all, with no part of his body.

Especially not the part of his body that still wanted to get really, really close with Steve. Steve closed the door behind him and then Tony flung himself to bed.

It was still warm where Steve had sat and he could fool himself into thinking it also smelled like Steve. Which was ridiculous, because he didn't even know how Steve smelled. Did people smell like things that weren't sweat or cheap perfume? Or was it just artistic convention?

He rolled to one side and put the covers above him. They were warmer than expected and they hid his half-hard cock well, which was a relief.

All he could do, now, was wait until Steve showed up. The door to the bathroom opened, letting a sliver of light into the bedroom before Steve turned the bathroom light off and sauntered to the bed.

He lifted the covers a bit and then got into bed.

'Well, I guess this is good night,' Tony heard him whisper and again, there was some fragile tether between them, maybe made of glass or maybe made of wishful thinking. It kept calling to Tony like a siren's call.

His brain always flailed, but his body pulsed with want.

He could touch Steve and maybe it wouldn't go wrong, but then he'd open his mouth and ruin this moment like he had ruined all of them before. Words were lead that sunk in the abyss between them. They were too rough for a moment like that.

Steve turned around, his wide back a promise and a threat, and Tony's hand hovered, for a second, above Steve's waist. It would be a simple action, to simply put his hand on Steve's waist or bring him closer, but the meaning of it was something Tony couldn't bear to think about.

He brought his hand back and turned around. They had a long day ahead and it didn't make sense to dwell in hypotheticals, so he let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of Steve's breathing.


End file.
